Breathe
by DragonDi
Summary: It's one year, two months, and fourteen days since the Potters died. How are Remus Lupin and Sirius Black coping? Based on "Breathe" written & recorded by Greenwheel and covered by Melissa Etheridge --and a great picture of David Thewlis...


A/N: I swore I'd never do a songfic. Of course, I said I'd never do anything slash-y, and I did.

So, find the song "Breathe" as done by either Greenwheel or Melissa Etheridge, because that is what inspired this one-shot. I know my interpretation probably isn't what they had intended, but it's the way Remus and Sirius would have interpreted them!

And, if you've seen the picture of David Thewlis in "Naked," when he's standing in the shop doorway just watching the crowds pass, THAT'S the picture I had in my head. (If you want to see the picture, I will send it to you, just PM me with your email address. Of course, that means you'll have to tell me what you think of the story, too! Heehee!)

**Disclaimer: Sirius and Remus, the Potters, and Dumbledore are not mine, unfortunately. Neither are Pettigrew nor the Dementors, which is okay with me. JKRowling created them; I merely make them all suffer more angst.**

**Breathe **-- song and lyrics by Greenwheel

I played the fool today  
I just dream of vanishing into the crowd  
Longing for home again  
Home, is a feeling I buried in you

I'm alright, I'm alright  
It only hurts when I breathe

And I can't ask for things to be still again  
No I can't ask if I could walk through the world in your eyes  
Longing for home again  
Home, is a feeling I buried in you

I'm alright, I'm alright  
It only hurts when I breathe  
I'm alright, I'm alright  
It only hurts when I breathe

My window through which nothing hides  
And everything sees  
I'm counting the signs and cursing the miles in between

Home

Home, is a feeling I buried in you, that I buried in you

I'm alright, I'm alright  
It only hurts when I breathe  
I'm alright, I'm alright  
It only hurts when I breathe, when I breathe  
Yeah, it only hurts when I breathe, when I breathe  
Oh,it only hurts when I breathe

--

Remus stood in the doorway of the closed (abandoned) shop, watching the people walk by. He had nowhere in particular to go, no one in particular to see. He hadn't anywhere in general to go or anyone in general to see either, for that matter.

_I want to go home._

The thought chilled him, cut through him with a sharper intensity than the early winter air. He had no home now. What had once been a physical representation of family and love was gone. Was gone twice over, as a matter of fact. So why had he even thought it?

He took a deep breath, feeling the keen edge of sorrow slice through him. He had expected it, but it still surprised him somehow. He thought that was because he expected the edge to have dulled somewhat by now in this past year, two months and fourteen days. It hadn't.

"Excuse me," a woman in a long woollen coat paused in front of him and waited for him to acknowledge her.

He would have smiled, but he couldn't remember the last time he had—not really. "Yes?"

"Do you have the time?"

He shook his head. The obligatory coming-of-age watch from his parents had been pawned early last summer. What need had he of knowing the days that passed, of the hours wasted, of minutes lost in grief and anger? "Sorry," he rasped.

"Sorry to bother you, then," she said with a bright smile, already turning to another man walking the other way to ask him the same question.

It was five twenty, by that man's golden watch.

_Time to go home_. He would have smiled, but he knew it would be self-deprecating and sarcastic, and would make several people cast uncertain glances his way. Apparently his appearance of sanity could be maintained only if his lips didn't curve upward…

He shouldered his duffel bag and let his long legs take him down the street and around several corners until he had reached a small door deep within a shadowed alley. A quickly whispered _Alohomora_ gained him entrance, and soon he found himself on the second floor of a furniture store that had closed for the evening.

From his bag, he pulled out a sandwich that he had procured (stolen) from a local deli and an apple and an orange that he had gotten (stolen) from a small grocer. The bread of the sandwich was like sawdust; the fruit tart. He had the feeling that they only tasted that way because of the bitterness of having done something that still went against every grain in his body. He had killed Death Eaters—willingly—and had reconciled himself to that, because it was for the good of the Order, and the good of the people. Theft was something altogether different.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back in the recliner that he had chosen to, well, recline in. The warmth of the store was making him drowsy. Before he fell asleep, though, he remembered to cast a Disillusionment charm over himself and his duffel. He couldn't afford to be caught in here. He rather liked this place.

It wasn't home, but home was something he had buried with his parents first, and then with James and Lily.

And it hurt.

It was agony, is what it was.

With every deep, burning, pain-filled breath, his heart kept telling him that something wasn't right, that somehow the balance of the universe had shifted, keeping him from finding his equilibrium. Those who had kept him even-tempered, level-headed, upright, and well-grounded were gone.

He hated it.

He hated that he felt like he was nothing more than dandelion fluff on a summer's breeze; nothing more substantial than a phantom; nothing more than misery given flesh.

He hated that he was the only one left. He didn't count the one in Azkaban. _Sirius…_ He didn't dare think of him. He didn't dare think of that one other Marauder hidden away from sight because then he'd have to question why it had all happened: why there was a child growing up far away from those who had loved him fiercely, irrevocably; why Remus was now alone and homeless; why the Potters and Pettigrew were dead.

_Damn you, Sirius. You did this to me. _

And he had no idea why.

Why hadn't Sirius killed him? Had he meant to let Remus live as some kind of living, breathing testament to power so Dark it had destroyed a friendship everyone thought was unbreakable? Had he intended for Remus to suffer more because of the absence of those Remus had considered his family? Or had he meant to be merciful in letting Remus live?

If this was mercy, Remus hated to see malevolence.

He sighed and propped his elbow on the arm of the chair, letting his head fall against his fist. He didn't feel like reading. He didn't feel much like anything.

He felt empty.

No, that wasn't true.

He felt something.

He felt that if his grief and frustration and anger should happen to meet each other, he'd explode or implode, whichever, it didn't matter. Something would burst somewhere inside him, at any rate, and leave him with blank eyes and an even more vacant mind.

And while he hated being a murderer, he had accepted it. He hated being a thief even more, but accepted it. But being mad or insane was something that scared him to the depths of his soul.

So he kept going, taking a deeper breath now and again, hoping he could do it without feeling like a silver bullet had been lodged in his chest.

_Maybe tomorrow, maybe one year, two months and fifteen days will have proved to be enough time to suffer… _

_Or maybe I'll decide I've had enough and go home with James and Lily and Peter._

_--_

Sirius sat with his back against the wall, contemplating the subtle differences of brown and grey and black within the stones of the wall. He had made a discovery: black wasn't just black. Some black had more of a red tone to it, some more of a green. There were some shades of black that looked as soft as velvet and others that looked as hard as iron.

There was even a shade named Black who had managed to kill two friends and possibly, knowing Remus as he did, cause a third to kill himself.

_Don't do anything stupid, Remus. I __**will**__ come home, and I __**will**__ kill The Rat, and I'll make it up to you. I'll kill The Rat and make it up to Harry._

A scream from a cell nearby sent a shudder up his spine. After all this time — and he had no idea how much time had actually passed — he should have built up a tolerance to it.

He also should have been accustomed to the sharp stake that seemed to stab into his chest with every deep breath when he thought of going home or of James and Lily. Though, essentially, they were the same thing.

_What home is left to me, if James and Lily are gone?_

He had the feeling he had held this conversation with himself before. He wondered if he had come up with an answer.

_Remus will have the answers. _

That all depended on whether Remus was still alive or not, Sirius supposed. Remus was strong – stronger than a lot of people would give him credit for – but Sirius knew him. He knew more about Remus than Remus thought he did.

And that was why it had been so easy to believe that Remus had been the spy.

But knowing Remus as he did left him now with the realization that Remus was alone, and the biggest fear that Remus had ever confessed to him was that he hadn't wanted to be left alone.

_Does Remus hurt when he breathes? Is Remus even breathing?_

There were moments that Sirius wanted to stop breathing because of the pain. There were times when the sharp stake grew thorns created by his guilt, by his stupidity, by his ignorance, and it ripped his heart to shreds.

It was agony.

How could he not have seen that it was Peter?

He tilted his head back and lightly and repeatedly smacked the back of his head against the stones behind him. He had been such a fool.

Now he could see everything so clearly, and although they said hindsight was always 20/20, this was with a clarity, a perception, to past events that made him want to scream with frustration and anger.

He had killed Lily and James just as surely as if he'd held the wands to their heads. He was the reason Harry was an orphan. He had buried his friends, their hopes and dreams, their love and the closest thing to home and family that he ever had.

Gods, if only he could explain to Remus! Remus would understand. Remus had lost his family and his home too.

And he didn't even have the benefit of knowing the truth. Remus would believe what the papers said, what the Aurors said. He'd believe what Peter wanted him to believe.

He'd believe it because the pain when he breathed would remind him over and over again about what he'd lost—just as it did Sirius.

And so Sirius sat there in the dark, dank cell, cursing the miles that separated him from Remus and from the truth. He cursed The Rat. Then he cursed Remus, too, for believing so readily that Sirius was capable of killing the Potters; that he hadn't tried to get Dumbledore to intercede on Sirius' behalf. They hadn't even believed in him enough to help him get a trial.

But, of course, Remus knew Sirius better than Sirius knew himself. He knew the darkness within. He knew Sirius' fears and desires. No wonder he believed that Sirius was capable of betraying them all.

No wonder he had left him there in Azkaban to rot.

And Remus had never been one to hold a grudge before. Before The Rat's betrayal…

_Remus is no doubt holding one hell of a grudge now. _

Hysterical laughter threatened to escape, but even a smile here served to attract the cloaked horrors that drifted through, and he knew his sanity could only be maintained if his lips didn't curve upwards.

His filthy hands clutched his chest as he breathed in deeply and felt that jagged edge of pain slice through him.

_Do you feel it as much as I do, Moony?_

_I will come back. I will. I will kill The Rat. I will kill him, and I'll make it up to you, that I've buried our family and our home…_

**Well? Okay, I didn't know how the slashy thing would go, and you have all assured me it was pretty good. How about this?**


End file.
